


let's make this night last forever

by bellawritess



Series: malum prompts [6]
Category: 5 Seconds of Summer (Band)
Genre: Alcohol, Charity Auctions, Famous Michael Clifford, First Dates, Fluff and Humor, M/M, Pre-Slash, calum and luke are just normal dudes, lmao i guess
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-24
Updated: 2020-05-24
Packaged: 2021-03-10 03:08:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,236
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27706720
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bellawritess/pseuds/bellawritess
Summary: “You — you just bid $2000 on a date with Michael Clifford.”Calum blinks, a lot, and picks his head up off Luke’s shoulder. “Who the fuck is Michael Clifford?”
Relationships: Michael Clifford/Calum Hood
Series: malum prompts [6]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2026381
Comments: 2
Kudos: 8





	let's make this night last forever

**Author's Note:**

  * For [softirwin](https://archiveofourown.org/users/softirwin/gifts).



> **prompt:** “i was scratching my nose, not bidding on the charity auction, but i won a date with you anyway and i don’t have the money but i’m not giving it up” au
> 
> [tumblr link!](https://clumsyclifford.tumblr.com/post/619035424673972224/i-just-lost-the-celebrity-x-lookalike-contest-i)
> 
> title from first date by blink-182
> 
> tw for alcohol

“It’s six,” Calum feels the need to remind Luke, for the tenth time. “In the morning.”

“Oh my God, shut up,” Luke says. “It’s literally an opportunity to meet Green Day. If you were awake enough to process that, you’d be the one dragging me out of the house to get it. Anyway, it’s for a good cause.”

“That made no sense,” Calum says, probably because he’s tired and sluggish and it is six. “You know it’s _six_ in the morning, right?”

Luke mutters something irritated and points to two seats next to each other. “We’re here,” he says. “Just sit down and shut up.”

“If all you wanted was for me to sit down and shut up, why the fuck did you make me come?”

“Because,” Luke says, looking like he’s about to whine. He better fucking not. If anyone’s going to whine, it will be Calum, because it is _six in the morning._ He scans the room, which looks roughly like he’d imagine an auction room to look like. Unsurprisingly, this quickly becomes boring, and when Luke sits down, Calum leans on Luke’s shoulder, yawning.

“So how do you win?” he asks. He’s a good friend, and Luke’s clearly excited. Calum can pretend to be excited, too, for twenty seconds.

“You don’t _win_ ,” Luke says. “The auction guy calls out a number, and people raise their hands, and then he keeps calling out numbers until only one person’s got their hand up.”

“Hm,” Calum says, because he doesn’t care. “How much are you spending on this, again?”

“Enough,” Luke says. “Don’t worry about it.”

“You drag me out of bed at _six_ in the morning and now you won’t even tell me how much of a bad life decision you’re making,” Calum grumbles. “I don’t know why I’m friends with you.”

Luke doesn’t dignify this with an answer, just pats his hair and opens up Twitter on his phone.

Calum zones out for awhile after that. He registers the auction starting (mostly because Luke’s put his phone away), and from the angle his head is at, he can just see the front, where they’re displaying each item as it’s auctioned off. Time passes. Calum tries not to flat-out fall asleep, because it would be rude, but he’s really tired and has only gotten about four hours of sleep, and his head hurts. He tries to train his eyes solely on the front, to laser focus on whatever item’s being auctioned. Somebody’s socks, maybe? Some concert tickets? They put up a photo of someone, and Calum squints. He doesn’t recognize the guy, but he must be famous, because his picture’s up there. It’s a shame; the guy in the photo is hot, hot enough that it breaks through Calum’s sleep-deprived haze.

He rubs his hand against his forehead, trying to massage away some of the ache that’s building up. Fuck Luke for dragging him out to this, honestly. As he rakes a hand through his unkempt hair, he vaguely registers somebody going, “SOLD to the gentlemen in the Rolling Stones shirt!”

 _I’m wearing a Rolling Stones shirt_ , Calum thinks distantly, and then Luke’s shaking him. “Calum, what the fuck?”

“What?” Calum whispers.

“You — you just bid $2000 on a date with Michael Clifford.”

Calum blinks, a lot, and picks his head up off Luke’s shoulder. “Who the fuck is Michael Clifford?”

Luke points, and Calum looks up at the podium, and of _course_ Michael Clifford is the super hot guy in the photo.

“I can’t have won that,” Calum says. “I don’t have two thousand dollars.”

“Well, you did,” Luke says, sounding like he’s moments from tearing his hair out because of Calum. “So you’ll just have to back out after the auction.”

“Jesus Christ, I don’t have two thousand dollars,” Calum says, beginning to panic. “Luke, what the fuck? I don’t even have two _hundred_ dollars.”

“Okay, relax,” Luke says. “You’ll just tell the auctioneer after. You can forfeit the item to the next highest bidder.”

Calum is tempted to ask _how the fuck do you know so much about auctions_ , but instead he says, “This is your fault for fucking dragging me here.”

Luke shushes him. Apparently the Green Day thing he’d come for is next up. Luke’s a terrible friend and an absolute menace to society.

The auction continues, and Calum keeps his hands tensely folded in his lap, terrified to even _move_ in case this poor excuse for an auctioneer randomly decides to make his life hell again. He spends about an hour trying to work up the nerve to tell the man that he hadn’t intended to bid, he hadn’t even wanted to come to this, and he hasn’t got two thousand dollars anyway, so thanks but no thanks, you can give this particular victory to someone else.

But every time he does, his eyes land on the photo of the alleged Michael Clifford. Calum’s not, like, a _shallow_ guy, but there is something to be said for a man that attractive. Namely that if you get a chance to go on a date with him, even if it costs two thousand dollars, you’d have to be not only stupid but fucking blind to turn it down.

 _You don’t have two thousand dollars,_ he firmly reminds himself. _And you don’t know this Michael chump at all. He might be a total asshole._

(If someone that hot is an asshole, Calum will lose all faith in humanity, but whatever. It’s fine.)

He manages to steel his resolve enough to turn down the date, but when the auction ends everything is all hustle and bustle. Apparently Luke’s won his thing, which is cool for him. Calum goes up to the line with the auction winners and prepares to tell the lady (assistant?) that there’s been a mistake, but the lady just hands him a piece of paper and says, “Next.”

“No, sorry, there’s —” Calum says, trying to return the paper, and the lady gives him a chilling stare.

“ _Next_ ,” she repeats. Luke looks desperately between Calum and the lady and then takes what she’s handing him and hurries them off.

“Luke,” Calum hisses.

“Okay, I know, but did you see her face? It’s fine. You can just email the auction company.”

“Just because _you’re_ afraid of social confrontation,” Calum gripes, but it’s far too late. They’re already outside the building. “I hope you’re happy.”

“I am,” Luke says. “Calm down, Cal. Literally just send them an email. They’ll figure out you don’t have two thousand dollars soon enough anyway.”

Calum stares down at the paper in his hand, which has all the details on how to contact this Michael Clifford figure. It’s fine. He can email the auction company, and everything will be fine.

* * *

Everything is _not_ fine. Calum typed _michael clifford_ into his browser three hours ago, and now he’s fucked. Utterly, irreparably fucked.

He shouldn’t have checked. He shouldn’t have even _bothered_. If he’d operated under the assumption that Michael Clifford was a jackass who wasn’t worth a second of Calum’s time, much less a cent of his money, everything would have worked out wonderfully. Calum could have sent the email to the auctioneers, subject line: GRAVE MISTAKE, and sorted it out.

Instead he’s an hour deep into Michael Clifford interviews on YouTube, and he’s listened to the man’s entire discography (two albums and an EP). Calum has gone over everything with a fine-toothed comb, but there’s no two ways about it: Michael Clifford is dead sexy and that’s not even the best thing about him. How can someone be this witty and charming and beautiful and sort of awkward and gorgeous _all at once_ and not, like, spontaneously combust?

It doesn’t help that he’s been steadily drinking tequila for the last two hours, also.

(He will easily blame the tequila for what he does next.)

He’d have to be an idiot to let this chance slip through his fingers. A total and complete fucking dumbass. Calum’s a lot of things, but he knows when God is giving him a chance. This is a miracle. An _opportunity_ , Luke had called it. Calum’s not stupid, okay? He’s not.

> TO: michaelclifford@hiorheyrecords.co.au 

> FROM: calpal1996@gmail.com

> SUBJECT: I won something with your guy

> Hello,

> I’m the winner of the charity auction date thing? With Michael Clifford? So that’s exciting. Write back with the details, I guess.

> Calum Hood

* * *

Calum doesn’t tell Luke when he wakes up, mostly because for a couple hours he himself can’t believe he’s done it, and Luke will just voice every terrible thing Calum is thinking, beginning and ending with _you don’t have, have never had, and will probably never have $2000_. And Calum already knows that. He _knows_ , okay?

But when he gets a response email, he can’t help but be excited, a little bit. If he’s going to go down (and he definitely is, for this), he may as well go down on a date with a man who looks like a fierce cuddler and a sex god rolled in one.

> TO: calpal1996@gmail.com

> FROM: michaelclifford@hiorheyrecords.co.au

> SUBJECT: Re: I won something with your guy

> Hello,

> Michael will be in Sydney this weekend. Attached is his availability. Please reply at earliest convenience regarding which time suits you best.

> Congratulations,

> Michael Clifford’s Management (Hi Or Hey Records)

Calum has no plans, ever, and would also easily cancel anything to speak with the absolute treasure that is Michael Clifford, so he replies that any time works for him. He hopes Michael himself isn’t as stiff and formal as his management’s emails, but Calum’s coming off an interview binge, so he wouldn’t believe that anyway. He’s aware of the disparity between what the public sees of a celebrity and who the celebrity actually is, but a public persona has to be based on _something_.

Plus, Michael plays Fifa, so he can’t be that bad.

He resolutely does not text Luke, and instead spends the day under his duvet, watching more interviews of Michael Clifford and listening to his music on repeat. It’s kind of like studying, except the test is a date with a really hot famous bloke. But fuck if Calum’s not going to ace it.

* * *

They decide on Friday night, because that’s the universally accepted prime date night, or something, so on Friday night at 7pm, Calum is shifting nervously on his feet and waiting by his door. A car will pick him up, apparently. He just has to sit and wait.

(He’s still deliberately not thinking about how this will cost him _two thousand dollars_. Which he doesn’t have.)

Calum’s phone buzzes with an email. It’s from Michael Clifford’s management, but all it says is, _I’m outside :D_. Tonally, Calum is pretty sure that one wasn’t sent by the management.

He takes a deep breath and leaves his house.

The car out front is not a limo, like Calum would have expected. It’s a nice Tesla, though, still clearly too expensive for Calum’s street and gleaming in the little remaining daylight. Calum makes for it, feeling nervous and excited and mostly just terrified that this is the worst idea he’s ever had.

He pulls open the passenger door and slides into the car.

“Hi,” says Michael Clifford. Calum fights not to lose his breath. He’s prettier in person, so much so that Calum can’t actually believe the injustice that pictures and videos do to him. “Calum?”

Oh, that’s Calum’s _name_. “Hi, yeah,” Calum says. “I’m Calum.” He holds out the paper given to him at the auction, just like the management email had instructed him to do.

Michael takes it, looking sheepish. “Cool,” he says. Calum can’t feel any of his limbs. “Um, get in, I suppose? I know we didn’t really decide where we’re going, but I figured I’d let you choose.”

Calum thinks about everything he’s learned about Michael over the past two and a half days of intense studying. Then he checks it against his own appetite. “Pizza?”

Michael’s face splits with relief. “Oh, thank fucking God. I’ve been craving pizza for like a week.”

Calum grins in what he hopes is a charming and not-at-all-creepy way. And then he feels creepy anyway.

“So, uh,” Michael continues. “Tell me about yourself.”

Calum drums his fingers against his thigh. “About myself? Okay. Sure. My name’s Calum Hood, I’m on a football scholarship at uni — when I’m at school — and I like long walks on the beach.”

“Oh, we won’t get along,” Michael says. “I hate long walks on the beach. Bad start, Calum.”

“ _What?_ How can you hate walking on the beach?”

“The sand,” Michael says defensively. “It gets everywhere, it’s horrible.”

“Alright,” Calum says. “Anakin.”

“I _know_ you did not just call me Anakin.”

“The _sand_ ,” Calum mimics. “It’s _horrible_.”

“I’ll stop this car.” 

“I think you’re contractually not allowed to,” Calum says. “Tell me about you, now.”

Michael looks pleased. Calum tries not to stare. “Alright,” Michael says, smiling crookedly. “Name’s Michael, and I like video games, and I like watching films in the darkness and I hate the beach.”

“Wow,” Calum says. He suddenly thinks that watching films in the darkness wouldn’t be too bad, with the right company. “You’re a right charmer, you are.”

“I’m an introvert,” Michael protests. “Don’t judge me.”

“You’re an _introvert?_ Who auctioned off a _date?"_

“It wasn’t up to me,” Michael says. He sounds like he’s trying not to be bitter about it, and failing. “It was, like, my management and the auction company conspired against me. But it’s for charity, anyway.” He shoots a look at Calum. “Actually, I think it could’ve gone much worse.”

Calum feels terribly, all of a sudden. He’s lying to Michael, sitting here pretending like he actively chose to come on this auction-mandated date. 

“So, not to be, like, self-obsessed, but I have to ask,” Michael says. “Do you like the new record?”

“Yes,” Calum says immediately, which is true, at least. “Yes, I love it. I’ve listened to it a million times.” _In the last three days._

Michael grins happily. “Really?”

Calum nods. “Uh. Yeah. Really.” He wavers, mouth dry. Michael looks delighted, and Calum would be an asshole to let him sit there feeling oblivious about Calum’s whole situation. He sighs. “Um, for the record, I feel like you should know that — well. This is a misunderstanding, kind of.”

Michael briefly shoots him a puzzled look before bringing his eyes back to the road. “What is?”

“Well, ah, me, being here.” Calum rubs the back of his neck. “I won this by accident. I don’t have two thousand dollars — _yet_ , I mean, I promise I’ll pay, I just…I honestly didn’t know who you were until about three days ago.”

Michael snorts, clearly amused. He laughs “That’s great,” he says. “Did you look me up?”

“Yes,” Calum says. “A bit.” He pauses, embarrassed. “Okay, a lot. There’s a _lot_ of information about you on the internet, if you were wondering. And I’m sure most of it isn’t true, but I didn’t want to, like, offend you? But I meant it about the album, it’s really really good, exactly the kind of music I love, and — yeah. So.”

Michael still looks amused when Calum finishes word-vomiting all over him. Small mercies. “I’m glad,” he says, looking sidelong at Calum for a moment. “Well, I’m sorry you ended up on a date you can’t afford with a guy you don’t care about.”

“No, no,” Calum says. “I could have forfeited it, I think? But, well.” Whatever, Michael probably gets this all the time, and after all this is a _date_ , so what the fuck does he have to lose? “I thought you were hot, and I was pretty drunk, so I figured, fuck it.”

Michael snorts another laugh. “Really,” he says. “Well, that’s pretty lucky for me.”

Calum frowns. “Lucky?”

“Yeah, I mean.” Michael gestures. “Sorry if this is forward, but you’re pretty good-looking yourself.”

Calum has absolutely no idea what to say to that. “Um, thank you? That’s — is this, like, scripted? Are there things you have to say to me in some contract? Because I promise not to be offended if you just don’t say them.”

“There’s no contract,” Michael says, with an easy smile. “I just think you’re kinda hot. Is that allowed?”

“ _Allowed_?” Calum repeats, incredulous. “No, it’s not allowed. You need to be checked for delusion. You can’t call me hot when I’m in a car with _you_.”

“Well, I am,” Michael says. “It’s done. Deal with it.”

“I want the record to reflect that that compliment was nonconsensual,” Calum says. _You’re kinda hot you’re kinda hot you’re kinda hot you’re kinda hot_ , his mind sings.

“Should I take it back?” Michael asks, arching a brow. He looks like a fucking sculpture. Calum finally understands why museums exist.

“No,” he says. “I took a voice note of you saying it, and I’m going to sell it on eBay. For two thousand dollars. Which I will then use to pay for this date.”

Michael shakes his head and pulls into a parking lot. “How about this: you pay for the pizza, and I’ll pay the two thousand dollars?”

Calum’s heart stops, maybe. He’s pretty sure he’s supposed to have a heartbeat, but he can’t locate it in his body. “What? No.”

“Why not?” Michael turns to him in the passenger seat. “I’m having a good time, and a gentleman ought to pay for his date’s meal, or some bullshit like that, right? So if you buy me pizza, I’ll pay off the auction, and then I can ask you on a real date, and I’ll buy _you_ pizza, and we’ll be even.”

Calum stares, unable to process any of that. “I don’t think that math checks out,” he says. “What do you mean, a real date?”

Michael chuckles, and sounds a little shy. “One where neither of us is financially obliged to attend. You know. Like a normal one.”

“Oh,” is what Calum eloquently comes up with. “Uh, you want to do that with _me_?”

Michael shrugs. “Yes? You kept me smiling for the whole drive, and you called me hot. I’m very insecure, so that’s important. Plus, as previously mentioned, you’re also hot, so I think we’d make a very attractive pair.”

“Maybe I’ll say no,” Calum says, blood roaring in his ears because _there is literally no way this is happening, this is not his real life_. This is a dream and he’s very witty in his dreams. “Don’t push your luck, Clifford.”

Michael laughs. “Touché.”

“That was a joke,” Calum says. “Just like yours was a joke.”

“I wasn’t joking,” Michael says. “But you can say no. We’re both still on this date, we may as well enjoy it.”

“Pizza,” Calum helpfully remembers.

Michael nods in agreement. “Pizza.”

“Ask me again at the end of our auction-mandated charity date,” Calum says. “If you’re charming enough, I might just let you take me out again.”

“Challenge accepted.” Michael gets out of the car, and so does Calum, and he gives himself another _this isn’t real life_ , for good luck, before coming around the car. Michael holds out an arm, and Calum takes it.

Calum’s never had better pizza, or a better date. (Michael asks him again at the end, and Calum says yes, because he’s no fucking idiot.)

**Author's Note:**

> thanks for reading <3 i'm on tumblr [@clumsyclifford](http://clumsyclifford.tumblr.com/) so come say hey!


End file.
